


Speechless

by Beejrill



Category: Original Work
Genre: Don't mind the tenses changing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Feels, High School, I haven't even read through it..., M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beejrill/pseuds/Beejrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theoretically, highschool can help us to learn about who we are and who we hope to be in the future. Highschool can help us explore personal relationships and determine how we fit into society in general. Highschool can be the best years of your life... or the worst. </p><p>Senior Jake Maddox has always liked to watch, but he doesn't always see... Events Freshman year lead to his transfer to Hillcrest High where watching is all he's ever done for the past 2 years. He's segregated himself to keep himself safe - but is it working?</p><p>Ethan Amore is the stereotypical class clown... but he has a not-so-secret. Jake may like to watch, but he doesn't see Ethan coming. Jake may think he's safe, but Ethan's pretty stubborn and won't take no for an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, so I just rewrote a story that I did a couple of years ago while drunk. I wish I still had that excuse to explain away the revised version, but alas I do not. Here's the inspiration for the story... enjoy. :D http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/stories/1320747083p8/283723.jpg
> 
> Just a very short story guys! Hopefully you like it... Let me know if it doesn't make sense or there are any major flaws in the structure etc because it's 1am on a work night... dead.

I glanced down at the half eaten salad on the grubby cafeteria table and absently toyed with a stray piece of lettuce, just watching as the world passed me by. I’ve always loved to watch - and before you get any bad ideas, no I’m not one of those greasy, middle aged history teachers that drools like Pavlov's pups at the first sight of cleavage (they’re at the next table over). The name’s Jake Maddox and not only am I a senior here at Hillcrest High, I’ve never really had any interest in cleavage. Not that I haven’t tried of course, I mean, I think most guys try to rebel when they figure out they're gay in highschool... It may not be rebelling against "The Man", our parents or even society. I think we rebel against ourselves in a weird, fucked up way - against whatever it is inside us that makes us different. Which is why I'm comfortable being invisible… I mean, it's not ideal considering I was excited for a new start at a new school, but beggars can't be choosers when you're a freak.

That first day walking through those crowded halls, I just knew this was going to be different. The smell of freshly opened stationery mixed with the dank aroma of sweat brought on by fear and anxiety fill the air. My eardrums were assaulted by the cries and indignant screams of friends already fighting filled the air. All pretty stock standard for this time of year, if you ask me. I didn't recognize anyone, which was a relief but I noticed the stares - how could I not? I don't think they knew though. How could they? There wasn't the distinct look of disgust and contempt I was used to at my old school. Mild curiosity - maybe arousal from that brunette batting her eyelashes so furiously I was actually concerned she was having a seizure. Maybe someone should have checked on that.

Before I'd even had a chance to find my locker, I found myself flat on the ground looking up at a face shadowed by the too-bright fluorescent lights lining the hall. My heart beat sped up and my throat constricted, whether of its own accord or from the pressure his hand was exerting I wasn't sure - I didn't really care at that point. I was sure it was him come to finish the job. My panic was rapidly building and nothing I did helped free myself from his grip. I couldn't handle this. Not again. I thought this place would be somewhere to escape the past and focus on the future. Guess I was wrong yet again.

"Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, faggot" cut through the panic and registered in what small portion of my brain remained rational. He removed his hands from around my neck and roughly shoved me back into the ground, as I gasped for a relieved but painful breath. I watched him leave with the twitching girl (guess it wasn't my stunning good looks) but other than that at least this guy was alone. Looking around the crowded hall, I soon realised I was as well. Everyone was carefully avoiding my eyes, my silent plea for someone, anyone to acknowledge me was left unanswered. I was disappointed sure - not surprised, but disappointed nonetheless. Picking myself up and dusting myself off, I continued on as per usual, withdrawing into myself more and more with each step I took. Not for the first time - I came to realise early on that if I wanted to fit in, I would need to become as inconspicuous as possible. Blend in. Become invisible. 

After the first couple of days, the novelty of “the boy who doesn't talk” wore off, and I was mostly left alone. Don't get me wrong, I’m okay with that because in my books I’d rather be left alone and ignored than abused day in and day out. Though if I was really being honest with myself, I wanted to interact with them, I really did... still do I suppose. But even the thought of speaking to someone continues to make me sick to my stomach. I know from experience that letting people in is dangerous, and that’s a risk I can’t afford to take again. So here I sit, left to my own devices with the cheap plastic seats and table top stained with god only knows what - my only company, the dark storm cloud intent on pissing on my parade… great. 

Dragging myself out from under the torrential downpour, I look around the overcrowded cafeteria. This is my favourite part of the day.  When I can just sit undisturbed at the back of the room and watch. I watched this movie a while back about a girl who transfers and becomes friends with the popular girls to bring them down from the inside... I can't remember what it was called but it was along the lines of "Nasty Bitches." Hillcrest kind of reminds me of that... we even have the whole cliché cliques and designated make out spots. On the far right, Cindy and Ryan (our school’s power couple so affectionately dubbed “cyrin”) play yet another game of tonsil hockey while the ever convulsant Steph and the rest of the cheerleaders hanging off the Quarterback Brett's every word. I've never been able to look Brett in the eye again after that first day.

Ethan Amore on the other hand, is another story altogether. He kind of keeps what little hope for the future I have alive. Of everyone in this godforsaken hole they pass off as a school, I most want to talk to Ethan. He's what you'd call the class clown I suppose, always making everyone laugh at his own expense during classes. But things change during breaks, and sometimes I think I’m the only one that notices despite the fact that he's surrounded by friends. He becomes more reserved and I can't place that faraway look on his face - it's a combination of pensive and utterly miserable but I can’t quite place it...

Several times he's caught me staring at him from across the room, but I've always broken the eye contact before I can see the look I could only describe as pitious directed towards me. I scan the room for him feigning nonchalance but I'm left disappointed when I see his usual spot empty, although his friends keep throwing glances in my direction, suspicion written all over their faces. I let my shoulders slump and rest my head on the table top. I instantly regret my decision however when something sticky adheres itself to my forehead and I feel my almost too-long curls plaster themselves to the unidentified blob. Oh well, it's not like I have anyone to impress with Ethan off school today. No sooner had I finished forming this thought that I felt something warm breeze across the nape of my neck, causing a tingling sensation to spread its way down my spine. I shuddered and threw my head back reflexively, only to be met with a solid object and a surprised noise of protest. 

Turning around, I’m horrified to see Ethan half bent over holding his nose with tears threatening his eyes. I think it's safe to say that by this point, I’m freaking out - either blushing red all over or as white as a ghost… I can’t feel anything, like I’m numb all over (hopefully it’s only nerve damage, so I have an excuse for sitting here speechless). Not that I’m surprised. My mouth is just kind of hanging in mid air, complete with little hitching motions that I’m sure make me look like one of the three stooges. I turn my attention back to the lettuce and continue to fiddle with it – only now it’s more like tearing than toying.

To my surprise, and relief, Ethan sits down on my left. An uncomfortable, awkwardly long silence fills the air, blocking out the cacophony surrounding us. What is he doing here? I try to sneak a look at his face – he’s still pinching his nose, but at least he’s not bleeding. I relax a little more and my eyes land on his lips – his full pouty lips... His tongue darts out and traces a line across the pink skin – they would look so much better bruised and around my... nope. Not going there. Look to the front. Oh God, Brett’s crotch may as well be on display. Breathe. Breathe. That’s right, deep breaths Jake… I can feel my heart racing in my chest and hear the blood pumping through my ears. Calm, unsexy thoughts.

Through the immense noise of the cafeteria, a voice whispers uncertainly in my ear...

“Hi… I don’t know if you know me, but I’m Ethan. We took calculus together a couple of years ago”

He remembers that?

“I see you sitting alone over here all the time” he continues “but I’ve never really been able to bring myself to come over and say hi…” By now there is no cafeteria – a full blown orgy could break out around us and I don’t think I’d notice. He leans in a little closer, his aftershave encapsulates me and his soft whispers send another jolt up my back, but this time it shoots straight to my groin. I said un-fucking-sexy, damnit! Whatever. I give up. I slowly turn my head to face him and surprise myself when I find the first word I’ve spoken within these walls spills from my mouth so fast I’m not entirely sure it actually happened.

“Hello.” That’s all. A simple hello, but that one word means so much to me right now. A smile instantly spreads across his face and transforms his features from that boy next door I could so easily trust, to the boy next door I’d go down on faster than the Australian Dollar… Which is actually slightly concerning. Maybe he knows how much it means too. I start to feel like one gigantic raw nerve ending I’m working myself up so much - thoughts race around in my head with fighting for dominance and the right to be heard.

He’s looking at me expectantly, like it’s my turn to speak again... conversations suck.

“I know who you are.” At this point I don’t know what he expects from me... He’s looking at me like he’s pleased and frustrated all at the same time. It’s fucking frustrating as hell because I just can’t understand why anyone would talk to me after so long of being ignored, cast aside... I’m just damaged goods. Everyone else gets it. I’d rather be left alone than to feel like he made me feel. I’d rather feel lonely than pained and humiliated.

“Look. I don’t care what little bet you and your friends have going on. I don’t need your pity, I just want to be left alone.” I kind of regret saying it as soon as it’s out there. I mean this great guy’s sitting here with his attention focussed solely on me but I just can’t do it. I’m so tired of being scared, so fucking sick of feeling like shit all the time. I know I mostly did this to myself, but no man is an island, and I’m sick of feeling stranded.

He just stares at me with an intensity that’s kind of scary – I can see his pupils are dilated and his breathing’s picked up. Guess I was right and I caught him, which is lucky I suppose but the all too familiar pressure still builds in my chest and extends its reach to the base of my throat... I can feel the rejection almost as tangible as a fist tightening its grip on my throat.

 

A hand reaches its way around the back of my neck and I tense for the imminent blow. This is all too familiar. Matt, my last boyfriend’s red rage-filled face flashes to the forefront of my mind. Out of reflex, I cringe away from the contact and try to make myself as small as possible despite the hard plastic of the table digging its way into my hip. I can’t do this again. I won’t go through this again. I refuse to be the perpetual victim (right about now I don’t feel so bad about the unintentional headbutt from earlier).

I’m left truly speechless when the fist is little more than a soft brush of fingertip over the sharp planes of my cheekbones. He wipes away the tears I didn’t even know had formed and I’m horrified that I was crying. Ethan leans in, bridging the gap between us and just wraps me in his arms. I can’t help but fold myself against his chest, wiping my cheek against his progfest shirt; stifling a chuckle as I thank god I don’t wear makeup. That mascara shit is not waterproof no matter what the bottle says.

He rubs long measured strokes up and down my back until my breathing settles. All the while he’s whispering things in my ear which sound reassuring enough, but I’m just too exhausted emotionally to process.

“Hey, look at me... Hey? Jake... Jay, please look at me?” I manage to look him in the eyes, despite the fact that my face is likely more damp than Paris Hilton’s underwear at a shoe sale. “I know you’ve been through a lot, I get that... but I’m not the bad guy. There’s no bet. There’s no pretence. No malicious intent... well, nothing I’m hoping you won’t be up for. It just kills me to see you like this. It kills me to know that I’ve been too chickenshit to get over my own insecurities and that I haven’t noticed how much of your strong, I don’t give a shit interior is all an act.”

Notice me? In all the time I’ve been here I’ve never seen him showing even the slightest bit of interest in me. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he was gay up until now - and to be perfectly honest I’m still not sure.

I slowly untangle myself from him arms and stare into his eyes again – they’re still dilated, but I see something else in their chestnut depths... concern... arousal... hope.

“What... do you... mean?” Hiccups punctuate my speech every few words or so. God, I’m so pathetic. “I didn’t even know you knew my name until ten minutes ago.”

He looks pained, like this is taking a lot of effort to say but he perseveres. “I sit at that table over there because I like to watch... Well, I did... Until you came along a few years ago... since then, the cafeteria just looks kind of blurred around the edges and the only one in focus is you. Yet, I never do a damn thing about it.”

“But you’ve never even looked in my direction before” I interject, still hoping this isn’t some elaborate plot to get me alone in the carpark after school like Matt and his friends.

Sensing my discomfort, Ethan leans in closer, bringing his mouth to my ear and whispers “Just because you haven’t seen me, doesn’t mean I don’t see you... You’ve just got to be looking at the right time.”

With this, he grabs the back of my neck and manoeuvres his face so our lips meet. A cross between a shocked squeal and a moan escapes against his mouth, but I’m definitely not going to complain. He starts tentatively, slowly – trying to build his confidence as much as he’s working on mine. The kiss deepens and now we’re the ones playing tonsil hockey, but at this stage I don’t really give a shit – everyone can watch as far as I’m concerned. I have one goal, and one goal alone. Ethan. I think to myself that I may actually get to see him with those bruised lips after all and break off with a laugh. That same dazed look of content is mirrored on his face and I realise that pressure has moved from my chest to my stomach and I can’t look anywhere but his face. I may have done a number on his hair though, because  it’s about as uncontrollable as my own.

Ethan nervously looks behind my head and I flinch instinctively, forcing me to break my gaze and stare around the room at the faces staring back at me. For so long I’ve been invisible and the scrutiny is just too much to bear. I was joking when I said everyone could watch, and I fully intend to apologise to Steph and Brett about the hickey jibe later because this is frigging awkward and I can’t handle to weight of so many eyes on me.

I look over at Ethan and he’s blushing a rather adorable shade of scarlet which I’m sure has also made its way up my neck and cheeks. He grabs my hand and quickly leads me out of the lunch room, expertly dodging those standing stock-still around the room. The halls are empty bar the odd wake of freshman loitering around the lockers.

Hand in hand, we walk towards the school’s entrance and for once I don’t give a damn. “So Jake, where to?”

“I don’t know” I answer honestly, “but call me Jay.” A new start calls for a new name.

Behind us, the cafeteria down the hall gradually starts coming back to life – a gradual crescendo slowly replacing the prevailing silence. As we reach for the doors together, the distinct sound of clapping punctuated by cat calls and wolf whistles makes its way towards us and the tears start rolling... again. Fuck.

 


End file.
